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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616672">desolation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539'>azure7539</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:55:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for MI6 Cafe's LDWS 2020</p><p><b><i>Week 1:</i></b> [(dis)quiet] — Waiting for an arrival.<br/><b><i>Week 2:</i></b> [ghost] — Question and answer.<br/><b><i>Week 3:</i></b> [tête-à-tête] — Short conversations.<br/><b><i>Week 4:</i></b> [game] — Hide and seek. Just another day at work.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond &amp; Q, James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MI6 Cafe Last Drabble Writer Standing</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. (dis)quiet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Waiting for an arrival.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Slots on the display board are flipping, a monotonous voice from the PSA intercom ever drowned out by the bustling of people arriving and departing drones on, and he waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cradles a travel cup in his hands, the half drained beverage inside long since gone cold and sloshes around with dead weight. Logically, he knows it no longer provides the spot of warmth he seeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Q?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly jumps, but uses the momentum to plaster on a smile that doesn’t resemble a grimace. Good enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bond,” Q greets and thinks not of the Walther in his bag.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Question and answer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>What went wrong?</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>By the time he arrives, there’s nothing of value left. He takes in the sight of the cramped room—one bare mattress in the corner, energy bar wrappings pushed into a pile, empty water bottles strewn around the floor—and stops at the coffee table. The near humid scent of cigarettes lingers in the air, unseen but winds like spidery gossamer, spooling from the crushed fags in that full ashtray next to an abandoned laptop.</p><p>His eye twitches. </p><p>Barely gone but not within chasing distance, his mind grudgingly concludes, and he sits down on the cracked tiles with a grunt. Despite the Caribbean sun flaring outside an unrelenting spot of heat as it pierced in through the windows, the place sustains a perpetual coolness that settles on his shoulders a phantom weight. </p><p>Really, he should worry more about potential booby traps in the laptop, but the thought doesn’t even stir his apprehension, and he opens it anyway.</p><p>The words he finds on the screen seize his breath before flickering back into an empty void.</p><p> </p><p>His earpiece crackles to life with a hissing fit. <em>“Status report.”</em></p><p>“He’s gone,” Bond growls, shutting the device with a harsh click.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>/I went wrong./</strong>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. tête-à-tête</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Short conversations.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“—Focus on my voice. Breathe. In then out—”</p><p>
  <em> “Q?” </em>
</p><p>“Yes. I’m here.”</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry, but... Getting a little fuzzy.” </em>
</p><p>“Hold on. Evac on route. 2 more minutes.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I”m afraid I’ll have to see you later, Q.” </em>
</p><p>“What? 007, What do you—wait—”</p><p>
  <em> “Take care of yourself.” </em>
</p><p>“No. Bond. <em> Bond</em>!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You know what they say about sleeping at your table.”</p><p>“That I’m dedicated to my work?”</p><p>“No. That you’ll drool and get a stiff neck for your trouble.”</p><p>“I don’t <em> drool </em>.”</p><p>“Sure. I thought I told you to take care of yourself.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare use that card with me, Bond.” – “Not after what you did.”</p><p>“Resurrection. Hobby—”</p><p>“Shut up. You don’t have any equipment to turn in, so do us both a favor and get out.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Good morning to you, too, Quartermaster. I’ll leave you to it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“... Bond.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome back.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Does M not have more missions for you, or are you just going into early retirement?”</p><p>“Well, you saw the medical file, Q—”</p><p>“Bold of you to assume I keep track.”</p><p>“Hmm.” </p><p>“I don’t suppose I can tell you to bugger off from my flat?”</p><p>“You <em> can </em>.” – “At the risk of abusing an injured personnel.” </p><p>“That’s rich coming from you.” – “Whatever. Stay or leave, just pick one and stop bothering me. And don’t disturb the cats.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Why keep a cot here if you’re not going to utilize it. At least drag your arse on it.”</p><p>“You have no right to tell me where to drag my arse, Bond. No right.”</p><p>“Yes, and I suppose you didn’t just nearly walk into a wall.”</p><p>“That was one time.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t keep doing this, Q.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you—Who is it?”</p><p>“Q…”</p><p>“Oh, Miss Moneypenny. Come in.”</p><p>“Who were you talking to just now?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing. No one.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hide and seek as usual. Just another day at work.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nausea roils like a particularly stormy sea in the midst of a hurricane, and all he can hear is the whistling of his own breathing as his throat wheezes around air before it rattles into his ribcage and never truly fills up those burning lungs.</p><p>He’s been running for so long, he can no longer feel the screaming in his feet.</p><p>The throng of people felt like a good idea at first, a thick crowd celebrating some local holiday, but now every face seems suspicious, every pair of eyes lingering on just a tad too long. The enemies can be anywhere, can be anyone.</p><p>Vertigo dips his world as he crashes into a phone booth, thinking, <em> assuming</em>, he’s managed to put decent distance between him and his chasers, spare change clinking as the coins spill from his shaking hands. </p><p>Fuck. Fuck, what’s the number again…</p><p>Eight, five, three, two—</p><p>The line rings. Once. Twice. </p><p><em> “Hello,” </em> a posh voice he’s never heard before picks up, nonchalant and indifferent. <em> “Identification, please.</em>”</p><p>“S-SPCTR-6304,” he nearly trips on his own tongue saying the words.</p><p><em> “One moment.” </em> Soft typing filters through, the calmness perforating through the mad chaos in his mind. But adrenaline licks at his heels—he’s finally standing still long enough to feel the way how wracking tremors are seizing up his overtaxed muscles—and he wants to scream and vibrate out of his skin. </p><p>His instincts are shouting at him to start running again, to keep at it until he finds a trustworthy point of contact, something <em> more </em> than just another voice on the other side of a line. </p><p>But that’s the thing. This ‘voice on the other side of a line’ <em>is </em> one of his last remaining trustworthy points of contact. The rest are just… <em> gone</em>.</p><p>Someone shrieks from over where the people have gathered at the end of the alley, and he’s one hair’s breadth away from slamming back into the wall.</p><p>His heart is beating too fast.</p><p><em> “Ah, Mr Roswell. Good to hear from you again,” </em> the person says, pleasantly. A pause. <em> “Did you enjoy your final game?” </em></p><p>“What—”</p><p><em> “At MI6, we aim to please, after all,” </em> the voice drops into a low baritone. Dangerous.</p><p>Like the monsters of his nightmares culminating into one singular point of existence.</p><p>The last thing he sees before life drains from him are twin pools of glacier. As blue and unreachable as the sky above.</p>
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